what are you doing here?

[small_magics]

Isibel has never seen an odder collection of fauna. She has not traveled extensively, but she is sure that creatures of this size - lizards as heavy as ten elves together, beavers eight and nine feet long, turtles with shells the size of small houses - are not customary. Yet the island is riddled with them.

The creatures have no particular fear of elves, but nor do they seek them, and none of her party have been attacked; she feels safe enough traveling through the forest on her own, stepping lightly, looking for the sweep of the treeline and any springs that might be useful for settlers if elves settle here. Besides, she is a student of the small magics, some of which may be cast quite rapidly if there is need; she could frighten away an animal that took too much interest in her. The ribbons tied around each of her knees and ankles (blending seamlessly with the rest of her travel outfit) are some of her finest small magic, guiding her steps so that she may place her feet as elves ought to be able to and bring no embarrassment to her House. They don't make her truly graceful, but she can walk, and care will do the rest.

She's deep into the forested part of the Unknown Island when she starts finding statues. Old statues. The trees have grown up around them, it looks like, they've been here that long; they're worn and weathered and have lichen growing on them.

And they're all of unicorns.

The oldest sculptures are none too skillful, but as she proceeds inward towards the center of the island, they become newer and better and it's plain to see that they're not of unicorns, but a unicorn. A unicorn with a broken horn; this is not, it soon becomes apparent, random damage to early statues. Someone has carved a specific unicorn, dozens - hundreds? thousands? - of times. And the art has been made with such intense love, and the newest of the statues are so delicately done that they look almost like real unicorns, with all the magic that implies, though they hold still and are on closer inspection all still carved from stone.

Someone loved this unicorn, and lived on this island, and made a thousand statues of her, and now the place is inhabited only by giant animals that certainly could have done no such thing. Isibel wonders what happened to the sculptor. To the unicorn, too.

On she walks.

Comments

[small_magics]

She nods. This dragon doesn't need a new Bondmate; it has an immortal partner already. She should be quite safe.

[endragoned]

He smiles at her, then turns to lead her through the forest.

As he walks, he starts talking again; it's not clear whether he's addressing Isibel or himself, but the distinction isn't all that relevant.

[small_magics]

She listens in case she recognizes any words from somebody's name, but she doesn't. Oh well.

[endragoned]

It's a bit of a walk, but not too long. The Dragonbond Endarkened doesn't seem to mind going barefoot, but perhaps he's used to it.

Eventually, they come upon a cave.

He ducks inside.

When he emerges a few moments later, he is followed by a smallish dragon with indigo scales and bright green eyes.

[small_magics]

Isibel doesn't know how to be polite without a language. So she goes ahead and talks anyway. "I See you."

[endragoned]

The dragon regards her for a moment, then turns its head and bumps its nose gently against the demon.

"Isibel," says the demon. (Something something) "Isibel."

"Isibel," the dragon repeats, edging a little farther out of the cave and arching his neck to study her from closer range.

[small_magics]

Isibel nods, and permits inspection.

[endragoned]

The dragon comes out far enough to spread his wings, which look almost like the end of a sunset, indigo shading to violet shading to pink from the leading edge to the trailing edge of each wing.

He is very, very beautiful. Well, most dragons are.

The demon hugs the base of the dragon's neck and murmurs something to him affectionately, and the dragon lets out a snort that stirs the grass all the way to Isibel's feet.

[small_magics]

Isibel would get out the drawings and start pointing at them helpfully, but she knows perfectly well that the dragon can read the demon's mind. So instead she just looks admiringly. He's so pretty. He might be the prettiest dragon she's ever s-

Isibel stops.

She checks herself: quick assessment of what was going through her head a moment ago and how she is feeling now.

She backs a step away, then another step, then she turns tail and runs back the way they came until she can't see the dragon anymore if she turns her head over her shoulder.

She comes to a stop and touches a tree and leans, breathing hard.

[endragoned]

No one chases after her immediately.

But after a few minutes, there's a rustling in the forest, and the Dragonbond Endarkened comes into view from the direction of the cave. He's moving slowly, and he looks puzzled.

[small_magics]

Isibel makes an apologetic face.

She turns back to where she drew their bond.

She doodles herself. And another line. And bites her lip.

[endragoned]

He stares.

[small_magics]

This hasn't been going on that long, she supposes, and the Endarkened has been here for a very long time.

She goes back to where she drew a generic bonded elf, and draws a line between him and his dragon, and another line to a human with - she supposes the easiest symbol to draw is three books, with the sun, moon, and star symbols on their covers, dancing illustratively around their Wildmage. This is a thing that happens, now.

[endragoned]

He rests taloned fingertips on the page and stares some more, wonderingly.

[small_magics]

Isibel shrinks into herself. She doesn't want to Bond. She doesn't want unfathomable power housed in a mind too terrified and trapped in unrelenting scrutiny to use it. Others handle it. She couldn't. She'd wind up disintegrating, if not physically then as a person, driving her dragon mad with unremitting mental screams. She firmly crosses out the line between doodle-her and the demon's Bondmate.

[endragoned]

He looks at her blankly.

[small_magics]

She huffs a small sigh and draws a little doodle of herself with the top of her head cartoonishly missing and wisps representing her thoughts drifting dragonward. Also, this doodle is crying. She displays it and then crosses that out too, jaw set.

[endragoned]

He nods slowly, frowning at the page.

[small_magics]

Isibel shrugs uncomfortably. She flips to a new page, but she can't think of anything else she wants to draw just now; if she daren't spend time around his dragon it's hard to see how she's going to introduce him to any of the other elves.

[endragoned]

He stares at the blank paper for a little while, lost in thought.

Then he speaks, abruptly and sharply, like someone cursing, and he holds up a hand—pay attention—and stoops to pick a berry from a nearby bush, the same kind he was eating earlier.

Holds it up, holds it out to her - snatches it back and crushes it and shakes his head emphatically.

[small_magics]

She blinks. And then looks at the berries and mimes having a stomachache and peers at him curiously to confirm.

[endragoned]

He nods.

He frowns.

He reaches one hand hesitantly toward her.

[small_magics]

Isibel looks at his hand out of the corner of her eye, having no idea what he is planning to do with it, and she draws the shape of the berry and the leaves and writes down the color so she'll be able to tell the other elves. (She will have to come up with some way to get them to believe her, but perhaps she can just advocate general caution with the plants.)

She draws a box around the blank space under the berry drawing in case he wants to show her more poisonous-to-elves plants.

[endragoned]

He sighs, and brushes bits of berry off his hand on his leg, and rubs his face with both hands.

Then he takes a few steps away and snatches up a small brown mouselike creature from the forest floor. It squeaks in alarm and wriggles frantically, but he holds it gently and pets it until it stops struggling. He looks at Isibel to see if she is paying attention.

[small_magics]

She is definitely paying attention.